


Take Care

by Chiroyu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Blood, Feelings, Flashbacks, Healing, Injury, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Punishment, Violins, Wings, beelzebub is a meanie, idk what else to add uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 17:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21181694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiroyu/pseuds/Chiroyu
Summary: where Crowley is punished for feeling things he shouldn't, spends 52 years napping, and then another 32 years trying to come to terms with what happened. And that doesnt even count what comes after.





	Take Care

It happened many years in the past. At least from a humans point of view that is. But crowley wasnt exactly human. So to him, this was basically fresh in his mind. It was as if it had just happened yesterday.

He remembered it was just like any other day back then. Sitting in his apartment, drunk as all hell, staring at the phone, waiting for a call from that someone he would do anything for. A call of invitation to someplace he barely cared for but what meant the world to this someone. A call that was unlikely to come. But yet he couldnt help but continue to stare longingly, yearning so for that call.

And that is what they stumbled upon that evening in the midst of chaos. A trio of demons, stumbling about drunk as they informed their subordinates of the chaos. As the world around them was being reduced to ash and rubble through fire and force, which they rejoiced for, crowley was locked in his apartment, drunk as any demon could possibly get, and just staring at a phone of all things. They couldn't fathom how this demon, one of their own kind, could look so miserable during a time they should be partying.

"I'm just not up for a party at the moment." Crowley said plainly, resting his chin on his hand as he continued to stare longingly at the phone. "I've better things to do, as you can see."

"What? Staring at that phone of yours while drunk like is more interesting than the world being in complete chaos?" The younger demon of the trio had asked.

Crowley sighed. "I suppose you all couldnt possibly begin to understand this... though, I suppose I wasnt supposed to either so maybe anything is possible..." he said forlornly.

The older demon of the trio raised a brow. He was still very young when compared to crowley, but he held seniority over the two demons he traveled with. "Understand... what?" He had asked, curious over what the higher ranked demon was going on about in his drunken state.

Crowley had sighed dramatically, finally shifting his gaze from his phone to the demons. He gave them a pitiful smile. "Oh, even if I were to explain it I'm sure you'd not understand a thing."

The middle aged demon had a raised a brow at crowley's words. "Try us?" He ventured, curious as well.

Crowley sighed, his gaze once more shifting back to the phone. "Well, I suppose I'm feeling things. Things that are impure."

The younger demon look excited. "Ooh, impure thoughts! Nothing wrong with those!" They chirped.

Crowley shot a glare at the young demon, instantly causing them to clamp their mouth shut in fear. "No, no, you misunderstand. They arent the good kind of impure thoughts like having sex with a human and what not, no... these thoughts are bad. Very bad. Impure ones that no demon should have any right thinking." He mused.

The older demon blinked. "Care to... share?" He asks.

Crowley, in his drunken state with lowered inhibitions, smiles faintly at the thought of being able to share his thoughts with someone. "If you'd be as kind as to listen with no interruptions."

Kind was no word any other demon would use, but the trio nodded in agreement nonetheless.

Crowley smiled at the trio, barely for a second that they may have even hallucinated, before frowning at the phone. At least his expression seemed to match his mood now. "Well... I'm sure you know that there are lots of... people, up here on earth."

The demons nodded, they had indeed heard about that.

Crowley sighed. "Well... I seem to run into them quite the bit. Which is fine, gives me time to tempt and all that, but... well..." he sighed, pausing to gather his thoughts.

The younger demon ventures with a go on gesture, earning a glare from crowley.

"Dont rush me, I'm getting there. Anyway, as I was saying... I seem to run into this particular person quite a bit.. and well, since I was bored and had nothing better to do, I've been... well, interacting with them. And being around them, it makes me feel... well, almost like I have the chance to be... f-forgiven... the chance to be accepted by her grace again... Now I'm sure none of you would understand what that's like, as you were created by Lucifer rather than God herself and thus have never had the chance of feeling it, but to put it simply, it feels like taking a nice long bath after not being able to for a thousand- no, two thousand years."

The middle age demon raised a hand. "But we dont bathe sir."

Crowley sighed, exasperated. "Not my problem. Anyway, it feels wonderful being in her grace. So being around this person who makes me feel like I have the chance at being back in it, its... nice. So I seem to find myself, well... seeking this person out more times than I care to admit.. which he seems fine with, well, until he suddenly isn't, but that's not the point!" He waves his hand in the air, as if waving off a different track of thought.

The older demon of the trio ventures to speak. "Then what is the point?"

Crowley sighs, once more looking at the phone longingly. "The point is, we haven't talked in awhile now and I mis- I am feeling the withdrawal from those good feelings. And I dont like it."

The younger demon hums. "Hmm, are you sure? Cause to me it sounds more like youre in lov-" the demon is cut off by crowley flinging his hand out, setting a fire to the demon as they scream in agony and discorporate.

"Dont you dare even suggest I would feel such a- disgusting emotion!" He howls in rage. Though not because he finds it to be disgusting, but because he is afraid that the other demon is right.

The trio, now pair, stare in shock but otherwise couldnt care less. The paperwork would take long, but they'd get their other member back at some point.

The middle aged demon, now the youngest of the pair, shivers in fear at crowley's rage. The older demon shakes as well, but it is barely noticeable.

"Perhaps, tell us more?" The older demon asks, somehow keeping the shakiness from his voice.

Crowley, who is still very much drunk, is happy to oblige. And so he speaks for a long time about this person. About the things they do together, the things they talk about, etc. And by the time he is finished, which he really wasnt as he just happened to doze off in his chair, the two demons left could come to one conclusion.

What the demon crowley has, well, it seems an awful lot like love.

Now, there are two things they can do here. Walk away and pretend none of this had happened, or go spill the beans to the higher ups and hopefully get a promotion of some kind. Now the first option would be the kind thing to do, but being demons they weren't known for being kind. So with a glint of greed in their eyes they made their way to Beelzebub.

Now all that has happened up to this point, crowley remembered only through a hazy fog of alcohol induced something. But everything after he next wakes, he remembered vividly. Every. Single. Detail.

The first thing he realizes is, it smells different. A lot less like his apartment and a lot more like hell. The next thing he is aware of, is that he is laying one something very hard an uncomfortable. So he pried his eyes open, still somehow expecting to be in his apartment.

He is met with a dimly lit and moldy room. Sitting up, he finds himself to be laying on what is supposed to be considered a torture table. Though it was being used as his bed in the moments before he awoke.

Taking a glance around, he notices Beelzebub to be standing in one of the dark corners of the room. Raising a brow, he stares for a moment before speaking. "Lord Beelzebub..." he drawls. "What a pleasure it is to see you. What can I do for you today?" He asks monotonously.

Beelzebub walks out of the shadows, they're arms crossed across they're chest as they glare at crowley. "Crowley. I should have known that out of all the demons, you'd be the one to disappoint me the most."

Crowley raised a brow, confused more than he thought he would be about what was going on. "Well, glad I could at least do that." He says smugly.

Beelzebub growls. "Honestly, falling for a human? Disgusting. We demons arent supposed to feel love." He says coldly.

Crowley's brows rose quickly. "I'm sorry... I did what now?" He asks, extremely confused now.

Beelzebub huffed. "Do not play games with me. I've heard all about it from those demons you spilled to."

Crowley made an oh sound. "Oh, they thought I was talking about a human?" He snickers.

Beelzebub chuckles darkly. "Human or not is no concern to me. You see, its the love part that honestly disgusts me. And I thought, well, what could I do to punish you for feeling such things?"

Crowley gulps. Hopefully this punishment beelzebub thought of wouldn't be too bad... though considering who they were... it was unlikely.

Beelzebub smirked a sick smile. "You see, I thought, what's one thing that you take pride in that I can take away? And then it hit me." They say, stepping forward and snapping there fingers. Two demon grunts appear behind crowley and grab him by the arms to hold him down. "Your wings." Beelzebub says simply.

Crowley stares in horror. "Y-you wouldn't-" he says, trying to rip out of the demon grunts hold. He is unable to, which causes Beelzebubs smirk to widen in sick satisfaction.

"Right, let's get on with it then. I'm sure the suspense is just killing you." Beelzebub chuckles, stepping closer to crowley.

Crowley shakes in fear, still trying to break free. He is still unable to, he looks around frantically hoping beyond all hope for someway to get free and to safety.

The demon grunts force crowley onto his chest and lock him onto the torture table he had woken up on. After they are sure he cant escape his bounds, they disappear back into the shadows.

Beelzebub chuckles at the look on crowley's face, stepping forward and p6acing a hand between crowley's shoulder blades. He pushes down hard, and a few seconds later crowley's wings pop into existence.

Crowley struggles suddenly even more frnatuc as he panics. "D-dont-" he tries to yell, but beelzebub only chuckles.

"Yell as much as you want, itll only be more pleasurable for me." They say with a sick smirk as they procure a knife from somewhere.

And so beelzebub started to work, mangling crowley's wings with the knife until they were in an unrecognizable state. They would still work of course, but there would be a constant pain and they'd never look goo again.

Crowley tried at first to hold in his screams, but found it neatly impossible. And Beelzebub enjoyed each yell of pain throughly.

By the time beelzebub was finished, crowley was in a barely awake state. Not even bothering with him anymore, beelzebub had the two demon grunts from before take crowley back to his apartment and leave him on the floor.

Crowley, now alone and back in his apartment, had basically no energy as he lay on the cold floor. E knew he should try to take care of his wings, to at least try and salvage them as much as possible. But he was just so tried...

And so he fell asleep, broken and bloody on the floor.

It is not till almost 32 years later that he finally reawakens. And for a bathroom break of all things. His body didnt even need to do such things, but he supposes it may have been his mind telling him to get up and deal with his problems.

In his daze of still not quite fully awake, he has yet to remember the ordeal he went through nor does he process the fact hes covered in long dried blood and that the distant pain he feels in coming from his wings and is about to get much worse.

So he deals with his problem of relieving him, proceeds to yawn, and then tries to stretch to get the crick out of his back from sleeping on the floor for 52 years.

It does not end well to say the least.

The motion of stretching his back muscles causes the muscles in his wings to tense, which then cause a hell of a lot of pain.

The surge of overwhelming pain instantly jolts crowley's mind awake as he chokes out a yell and a cry of pain. Falling to his knees, he cries in pain, something he normally would never do.

That is his first sign something is not right. The next is when he notices the blood covering his hands. He can feel panic rise. What was wrong, what would cause him such immense back in his back while also apparently bleed a lot?

And then the memories hit him.

He feels hit tears well up in his eyes at the memories. Phantom screams of his own bouncing around in his mind as he stares blankly at his dried blood covered hands.

He is oddly calm. He is in shock. His brain is finally processing what he had went through and it is basically going 'nope' over and over while packing a bag and going for a nice long vacation.

In this oddly calm state he has entered, he can calmly stand and ignore the pain. He can calmly want to his room and stand in front of the full length mirror. He can calmly look at his mangled wings that he can still somehow move, but not without pain so unimaginably painful. He can calmly reach out and touch them, calmly wince at the pain, and then calmly reach back out to touch them more.

He can calmly, and not at all sob, miracle them clean of blood. He can calmly stare at the scars and the fatherless spots and the bones that werent set properly. And he can calmly beat himself up for taking a nap instead of tending to his wings.

He can calmly tell himself he's a fucking idiot, and that if he hadn't of slept and had instead tended to them they may have been completely fine. He can calmly tell himself his wings will never go back to the way they used to be, and he has to live with that forever.

He can calmly walk away from he mirror and go back to the bathroom to shower and change his clothes. He can calmly ask his neighbor what day it is, then what month, and then what year. And then he can calmly be shocked it has been 52 years.

And then he can calmly walk back to his apartment Nd collapse on his bed and sleep at least another week or two.

Except he cant do that last thing. His body is tired of sleeping. So he pries his sore body from the bed, throws on a coat, and heads out into town.

Now if he werent calm, he would have gone to the local pub and drank for as long as the bar master would let him. But he is calm, so instead he goes to a small bookshop. Not the one the angel owns though. Hell no. The angel would be able to instantly tell something was wrong with him. No, he goes to the bookshop that's farther from where he lives and honestly can barely be considered a bookshop.

Crowley enters, ignoring the young boy who greets him and goes straight to the book on his to deal with loss. he passes the ones on loved ones, the ones at pets, and stops in front of limbs. That's the closet to what he had lost, at least in human terms. He thumbs through the small section of books on losing a limb, which is quite a few compared to the other sections,but what can you say about it when the world is in a state of war.

He finds one that seems decent and walks out the shop with it, not even bothering to pay. Neither the boy who welcomed him nor the owner notice.

He reads it as he walks back to his apartment, skipping some chapters within. Like the one on shock. He wasnt in shock. He was fine, so he didnt need to read it. And he skipped the chapter on dealing with PTSD. He didnt have that either, he was a demon after all. Demons dont get PTSD. Even if the only thing that still reminded them of their days in her grace was basically mangled.

He arrives at his apartment, still reading. Hes almost near the end of the book, where it talks about what you can do to lessen the pain you feel mentally and physically. Physically is mostly recommendations for homemade remedies which he may or may not file away for later use. Mentally though are recommendations for hobbies. He scoffs. Like a hobby would help him forget the pain of watching Beelzebub mangle his wings.

And like a switch, his shock fades away and is replaced with panic. The memory of watch Beelzebub mangle his wings brought to the forefront of his mind and he somehow cant breathe. So there he is, in front of his apartment door hyperventilating while relieving the moment of his wings being ruined.

And that's how his neighbor finds him not even ten minutes later. The poor old lady calls a doctor, and they bring him inside his apartment. The doctor helps calm him, and then informs crowley he was having what is called a panic attack.

Crowley wants to scoff and say no, but the sweet old lady notices the book hes been clutching this whole time and raises a brow.

"How to deal with the loss of a limb? Mr. Crowley, I didnt know you lost a limb!" She exclaims in worry.

Crowley, in his state of freshly just stopped panicking, begins to panic again. And in this state he just decides to play along. "A-ah yeah... happened... awhile ago..."

"While you were gone travelling I presume?" She asks, referring to the time he actually spent asleep.

"Uh... yeah." He mumbles.

The doctor seems to have a sudden understanding. "I see. Your panic attack may have been brought on by a flashback then." The doctor begins to explain, taking about PTSD and the such. And for once crowley listens.

"Oh... so... PTSD, huh?... okay..." crowley mumbles, feeling put off at having a human diagnosis.

The doctor nods, and begins talking about perhaps getting therapy, which may help. Or at least talking to someone, anyone.

Crowley agrees, purely just to get the doctor to leave and not because he was actually thinking of doing such a thing. Definitely not thinking of joining a group or anything like that. He would never.

And so the doctor and old lady leave and crowley is left to ponder on things.

A week passes from then, and crowley joins a group of people who have each lost a limb. He attends every meeting, but never talks about himself. This goes on for five whole years, in all of which time he feels hes only gotten worse and as such has refused to contact the angel.

It isnt until one meeting they get a new member. This guy looks, at least compared to the other members, to be dealing very well with his loss. When asked how, he smiles and replies with this. "Music. After I lost my leg, I took up playing the cello. Of course, only cause my little daughter wanted someone to do it with her. And ya know what? It made me happy. Made me feel better bout myself. Made me almost glad I lost my leg and was able to be there with my daughter for each lesson and not out fighting a war."

Even three years after the group meetings had been disbanded, due to the building they used being demolished, crowley still thought about what that man said.

And so, almost 8 years after he woke from his nap, he decided to try an instrument. He did months of research first. Searching up what each instrument was good at and had at, which were easier to learn, which were more fun, etc. It took him a whole extra year just to decide he wanted to try the violin. And then the search for an instrument began.

He looked in all the popular music stores, the ones in back alleys, the ones that were so expensive even he who had an unlimited amount of money sweated, but still he couldnt find one that caught his eye.

At least, not until the day he just so happened upon a young man sitting on the side of the street with an array of items spread out before him with price tags. He had many things, but what caught his eye was the violin. It had obviously seen better days, and honestly looked to be the cheapest you could buy, but something about it called to him. So he picked it up and looked it over, asking the young boy how much.

The young boy answered with a price that frankly crowley thought was much too low even for this cheap mess. He asked the boy why so cheap and thus earned the boys backstory. He was disabled, born without a leg and an illness which caused him to be sick often, he shows his missing leg that he had hidden with his blanket. He explains how his family had disowned him and kicked him out because they couldnt pay for his medical bills anymore so now he was living on the streets and having to resort to selling his prized possessions. Which of course include the cheaply made violin.

Crowley always had a soft spot for children, though if you ever pointed it out he would fervently deny it, so of course he sets the violin back down gently and proceeded to give the kid a large sum of money.

Of course the kid tried to to give it back, saying it was too much and that crowley shouldn't give it away to some kid he just met. But crowley denies the kid trying to return it and tries to leave. But hes stopped by the boy who reached out and grabs his sleeve, holding out the violin.

"Please, take it. I would feel terrible if I let you give me this amount without at least giving something in return. Besides, i saw the way you were looking at it... I would be happy for you to be its owner now." He says with a smile that somehow puts even an Angel's to shame. So of course he cant say no as he gently takes the violin in his hands. He thanks the boy and goes on his way.

A few days later he would pass by where the young boy was to find him missing but all his items still laid out. And another day alter he would he find out the young boy was killed an robbed for the money he had given. And then he would go and gently pick up the items that had somehow yet to be stolen and bring them back to his place where he would display and take care of them.

After that, he practiced on that violin for days, weeks, months, years. He wasnt very good of course, he was teaching himself after all. But dare he say he was getting the hang of it.

Its approximately seven years after first getting the violin from the young boy, and while crowley is still far from excellent he has improved greatly. In both his musical prowess and in his mental health. He now thinks less about what happened to his wings, blames himself less, stares with disdain and hatred at his mangled wings less, and instead feels more calm.

He feels better, but he still has a ways to go. So he plays the violin, actually gets appointments with a therapist, and genuinely tries to be better for another 15 years. At that point it's been 84 years since his wings had been mangled, 52 years since he woke from his nap, 47 years since his last group meeting, 44 years since he decided to play an instrument, 42 years since meeting the boy and getting his violin, and 93 years since his last meeting with the angel.

Crowley still feels he has a way to go till he is completely fine, but he is tired of staying away from the angel in fear. So he straightens his clothes, brushes his hair, makes himself look okay, and head over to the bookshop.

The angel greet him with shock at first, then worry, and then relief. "My dear boy, where have you been?" He asks, inviting the demon in.

"Oh you know, sleeping." He lies.

And the angel scoffs. "Honestly, sleeping for a whole century! Are you sure you arent the demon of sloth?" He chides and crowley will laugh.

"Oh trust me angel, I'm sure." He says, and they'd continue whatever it was their last conversation was as if there hadn't been a century year interlude. As if crowley wasnt sitting a bit different than normal to account for his newly founded constant pain. As if   
Crowley clearly hadn't let out a load of tension in his shoulders when aziraphale believe his lie of sleeping for the century. 

And it wouldnt be for another 20 years until crowley shows aziraphale his skills with the violin, which the angel would give many compliments and applauds to the demon. And it would be then, approximately 104 years since his wings were mangled, that he'd start to try and finish healing for the angel before him. Start to try and accept his wings as they are. Start to play the violin no longer for himself to heal, but for the angel to compliment him. To play and see the small smiles on the Angel's face. The smiles and compliments which would ultimately help to finish healing him.


End file.
